


Is It Raining Where You Are?

by Torchiclove



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Beau's a dumb gay idiot, Established Relationship, F/F, Miscommunication, Pining, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 19:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14087565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torchiclove/pseuds/Torchiclove
Summary: Beau doesn't consider, when she begins this relationships, that one party will not always be present. And now, she has to deal with it.





	Is It Raining Where You Are?

When Yasha stays for a long time, it’s hard to remember that she ever leaves.

She’s not talkative or intrusive, but her presence is palpable. It’s only noticeable when it’s not there, after time’s far too gone to appreciate it. She’s been with them for so long, it feels like, and then she’s not.

Beau wakes up one day and her bed ( _their_ bed) is cold, no note, no sign of where she’s gone. No goodbye, half-whispered in the night, just absence. Beau hadn’t considered what it would be like, the next time Yasha took off. She doesn’t think ahead.

Molly errs on the comforting side of teasing, telling her that Yasha will be back soon instead of ribbing her for being upset about it. She does this, he reminds her, she’s always done this, and she’s always come back. Soon, he assures, and pulls a card that confirms his suspicions, flashing it with a stretched grin. It doesn’t help.

Beau isn’t quite sure what about it bothers her so much, this time out of any, this one leaving. She thinks she isn’t sure but in her heart she knows why. Yasha, previously, had little attachment to the group, at least in Beau’s eyes. Now, she does.

Or at least, Beau hopes she does. They haven’t been doing this silly little thing they call a relationship for long, just long enough that it felt familiar. Like a constant presence, never-changing, a love that permeated the background hum of Beau’s mind.

She wouldn’t call it that out loud, a love, but it was. Whatever that meant.

The group notices that she is morose; she doesn’t hide it. She doesn’t exaggerate it, exactly; she doesn’t whine or cry. She is quiet, solemn. She does not take Jester up on the suggestion of a shopping trip, instead choosing to sulk. She stares out the window and sneers as the grey sky breaks open and rain begins to fall.

Everyone walks on eggshells. Fjord offers to buy her a drink, but she doesn’t feel like drinking, and Nott tries small talk to no avail. Nobody mentions the fact that Yasha is not there, not after Beau announces it to them as she descends from her room. They avoid the name like the plague, avoid commenting on the storm or anything remotely reminiscent of the woman.

Beau listens, bored, to their conversations, long after they’ve given up on raising her spirits. It’s nice, at least, to hear them making merry. She listens in to Fjord and Jester awkwardly flirting, to Molly telling a half-true story to a bar patron in return for a mug of ale. She catches Caleb excitedly telling Nott about the new spells he’s just transcribed into his book, the ones they’d found in an unsuspecting book shop. One catches her attention.

“Sending,” Caleb starts happily, “It is like your message spell, but it covers any distance! Isn’t that wonderful?”

Beau breaks her silence and darts over to them. To hell with seeming overeager, she _is_ overeager, and she’s known these people too long to care. 

“Can you cast that spell now?” She asks, slamming her hands down on the table with more force than she intended. It startles both of them, and Caleb looks absolutely bewildered by her sudden interest in the arcane.

“Yes, it’s one of my bigger ones, but if you need…” He trails off for moment, eyes lighting up with realization. “Yes. It’s a short message. I can send it to anybody I’ve met.”

Beau thinks for a moment, stuck on what to say. There’s so much, and yet nothing comes to her. She can’t put what she wants to say into words.

She glances out the window at the sheets of rain coming down, running in rivulets down the cobblestone road outside the inn. She turns her head back to Caleb and sighs.

“Can you ask Yasha if it’s raining where she is?” It’s the only thing she can think to ask.

He nods, then pulls out a short piece of copper wire and curls it around a finger. His eyes spark an arcane blue as he takes the finger and traces it through the air, faintly mouthing the words, and he snaps back into reality.

A brief, tense second passes before Caleb quietly mumbles, “She says no.”

“Thanks, man,” Beau chokes out, feeling her eyes well and her throat close. Shit, that hurt more than she thought it would. It stings, deep in her chest, that Yasha’s not even close enough to be under the same grey sky. She wonders how long she’s been gone, how far she’s gotten already. How long it’ll take her to get back. If she ever will.

There’s never been a guarantee of Yasha’s return, they all know it, have always known it—she does what she will, no stopping her, and some absences drag on longer than others. Nobody would be surprised, really, if the days stretched to weeks, months, years without a sighting of her. 

Beau wants to think she wouldn’t do that, not now, not with what they have, but hell. She’s been left before. It’s the perfect out, after all, to disappear when disappearing is normal, expected. She could leave Beau waiting and worried for however long she pleased, draw it out to the bloody end and Beau, like the idiot she is, would fall for every second of it. 

She turns away from Caleb and feels tears sting the back of her eyes, trailing down her cheeks despite her best efforts. It’s stupid, really, the worrying. She just wishes she’d had a note, a few words, a promise. Anything substantial, anything more than the no that Yasha said back.

She heads back to the room, even though the sight of the empty, unmade bed makes her stomach turn. They still have shit to do, even without Yasha, and they don’t have time to take a day off for her to mope. They’ve already wasted an hour sitting around in the tavern.

Beau half-heartedly grabs her pack and slings her staff over her shoulder, and she notices that, tied to the end, just above the blue ribbon, is a scrap of paper. 

She hastily removes it, careful not to tear it, and written in quick, small letters, it says, “I’m sorry. Be back soon. Miss you.”

Beau smiles, so wide it almost hurts, and she feels her chest fill with warmth. She laughs in spite of herself because gods, she’s been so _stupid_. She wipes the remnant of tears from her face with the back of her cloth-wrapped hands, and struts out of the room with a broad grin. 

Molly doesn’t stop giving her shit for the rest of the day, and probably won’t for the rest of her life, but she’s too happy to care. And when Yasha comes back, they hug, and Beau kisses her on the lips, and everyone grins and keeps their mouths shut.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Sigh_. Everyday I lower my standards for myself. Listen. Sometimes you listen to west virginia by the front bottoms and you get a lot of emotions and you write 1.1k words in 45 minutes and then you can't just let it rot in a google doc because you know when you reread it in the morning you'll trash it. And sometimes you just gotta muse at the fact that Beau is dumb, gay, and dramatic.


End file.
